


The Errand

by SilviaKundera



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-02
Updated: 2003-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilviaKundera/pseuds/SilviaKundera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this cracky romp set between S3 and S4, because I had mad love for empowered Season 3 Justin and was amused by the idea of Michael and Hunter going on the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Errand

The thing that Justin had forgotten about Michael until they weren't talking, and weren't talking, and then were _kind_ of talking, was that he got these IDEAS into his head.

Ideas -- like, 'hey, I should just quit my job and open up my own small business with zero overhead and heeeey, how about I do it right _now_ ' and 'let's start our own comic book' and 'if the cops are looking for the hooker I've been housing, I should take my best friend's car and run off to some no name mullet populated states.'

He got _ideas_ , and then he was asking you to do, to do these _things_ , and oh god, Justin should have hung up and he didn't. And then he was driving to fucking Arizona in his mother's fucking car, and if there wasn't actually a city named Paradise Valley then he was going to be really pissed off.

 

"You're not really—"

"I'll be _fine_ ," Justin said, and glanced over at his road maps, and hung up on Brian because Brian was worried enough to let him and not skin him when he got back home.

He would be fine, and he'd let Ben out of the trunk in, like, fifteen minutes for air.

This was the stupidest plan ever, and he didn't think anyone _cared_ enough to be watching his place, or his mom's place, or anyone he's been related to ever's car, but whatever. What. Ever.

He'd picked up a flashlight and water bottles, and Ben probably wasn't dead—which was good, because Ben was still one the hottest guys Justin had ever met, and it was hard not to like him besides. He had that whole zen, I am the embodiment of Prozac thing going on.

\---

He stopped in a town that wasn't actually a town, but a few miles of dirt and ten people plus a Burger King, and four of those ten people didn't make too bad of a chicken sandwich.

"Itz goot," he said, with his mouth partially full, and the counter boy looked back with eyes that said, "I'm never getting out of this town that's not a town and I want to die."

"So, see you later," Justin said, sort of spooked out, and left a dollar tip and whatever change he had in his pockets.

He maybe hopped and skipped and kind of ran to the door.

\--

"So, no one's dead," he announced, pulling up with the window down into an actual driveway with the actual address in the actual Paradise Fucking Valley – which, by the way, was very brown and probably as boring as perfect would be, so it kind of ironically fit.

Alanis irony, maybe, but he'd go with it.

"um. Good?" Michael said, and tapped on the windshield in this way that made Justin want to hit him, but also ruffle his hair a little, so he shrugged and did nothing.

"It's somebody's house," Michael said, when Justin had sat there for a few seconds, squinting at it. "Someone Hunter, uh, did business with. Once. ... They're gone on vacation. Or something."

Justin gave him a look.

"We watched!"

Justin examined the dirt under his nails, and drummed his fingers over the steering wheel, and gave him a look that said, 'did your teenage prostitute murder them in their beds?' and Michael gave him a look back that said, 'NO HE MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT,' and, 'shut the fuck up.'

"So how many laws will I be breaking if I crash here for the night?"

Michael coughed. "Let's get Ben out and I'll make us some lunch."

\---

"I gotta call Brian," he said after they'd eaten -- which wasn't that bad, for greasy take out. Which he decided was due to the thin desert atmosphere, because Hunter had ordered it and he really didn't like Hunter at all -- nothing personal, just the kid was fucking skanky -- which didn't at all change once Hunter said,

"No _way_."

"um. I'm not some fucking _twat_ who's gonna go and call on your goddamned stolen house _phone_."

"Now, _guys_ ," Ben said, and Justin was happy to hear him talking, because if it were him he'd be fucking traumatized, and eating rats and sitting in the corner and shit, but –

"I've seen it on Law & Order – they can totally use stuff you say on your cellphone."

"And when you do find time between blow jobs for Law Fucking Order?"

" _Guys_ ," Ben said, and Hunter did that huffy little thing that was _Justin's_ huffy little thing, thank you very much.

I mean, he didn't actually use it anymore, but. Still.

"You are so going to be my friend for this," he told Michael. "Like, forever."

Michael nodded.

"Like, even if I shave Brian bald."

"You're not going to shave Brian bald," Hunter sneered, rolling his eyes.

"I might," Justin said, and well. Yeah. He meant it too. And almost said, but then he was the grownup, "Shows what you know."

\---

"I'm not sleeping with _him_!"

"I'm not sleeping with him," Justin said, very seriously.

"You're sleeping with him," Ben said, with firm granite chin, and no, that so wasn't going to happen.

"...You could sleep with us," Michael offered.

"No, really uh."

"You guys are like my _dads_!"

"Well, that settles it then," said Ben, and Justin thought he was maybe changing his mind, and he maybe totally hated him.

\---

"My friend. Forever and ever and ever. And you owe me lunch," Justin said, and cracked his neck, right elbow, and all ten knuckles.

"Okay."

Michael was surprisingly docile, which meant there was something else wrong that Justin did not in any way want to know about, so he had better ask right then and there.

" _Michael_."

\---

"I fucking HATE you guys, you know that?"

\---

"We'll miss you!" Hunter called out, airy, saccharine, and utterly insincere. "Promise to write!"

Justin flipped him off and headed slower than somebody's grandma towards the turnpike, because the very very last thing he needed at the moment was to attract the local excuse for law enforcement.

He got the cell open with shoulder and teeth. "I don't care what you're doing right now, you're giving me phone sex."

"When did you get so _demanding_ , Taylor?"

"I've fucking earned it," Justin snarled, "And you don't even want to know what I've been given permission to do to you. I have a list."

He could hear a zipple sizzle down, and smirked.


End file.
